We hardly talk about things at home growing up in my childhood. I don’t remember any conversation except for some daily chores that needs to be done every now and then. I was probably looking for a way to express myself when I bump into an old empty notebook and a pen. I write about the infatuation I had on a male classmate at the age of 9. Those were the thing I cannot tell my mom since I came from a traditional, old fashioned family and besides I was very young then to talk about those things. I write them anyway hoping my mom would never knew. I keep it away from her and realize later that there’s no place at home where mom would never see.

My diary was my best friend whom I can tell everything without the fear of being rejected during high school. It helps me deal with my feelings, vent it in the safest way possible and go through the turmoil of an increasing mood swings brought by the ever surging hormones my body started to produce. I write the strongest feelings at any moment and all the disgust I have within finds a way of getting out. That was the time I almost write every day.

I went to college away from home with my journal as my constant companion. Being with new groups of people, and feel like living by your own despite going home every weekend to get allowance was an entirely different world from what I’ve been used to. I never see much about the world during that time but I see so much about myself through my journal. I write the things I would like to happen in my life including the kind of man I would want to marry. I finish my bachelor’s degree on time writing every bit of difficulties, struggles, heart breaks and joys with my diary.

A few months after getting married to the exact kind of man I have written, I have no one to turn to but my journal. I realized that my partner can never be available to me 24 hours a day anytime I want. I never knew then that I needed someone or something where I can express everything that’s going on anytime I wish. There were so many confusions, frustrations and expectations that I had to voice out and didn’t know how. My journal came in rescue. It was like a buffer. I don’t remember so many confrontations and shouting with my husband because when situations were difficult, I will usually get my pen and write. Somehow it helps clear my mind and when things cool down that’s when we will talk. So far we will be 24 years together this coming July. Thanks to my journal, always available when the going gets rough.

Three years ago, I lost my son to drunk driving. I survive every parent’s worst nightmares by writing. I write to my son everyday on my journal that eventually leads me to publishing my first book where I learn so much about life, parenting, love, death and alcoholism. It made me feel connected to him again. It helps me deal with the pain and made the passing of the days bearable. This is where I feel like I find him again and it gives me hope. It also leads me to doing the thing I enjoy doing so much in my life; writing.

I remembered my dear friend who keeps a diary, and I think that saves her too every time she has to deal with things that trigger her depression. This is such a wonderful read. I find the part when you got no one to open up to when you were still young relatable because, as for an only child like me, I also keep a diary. 🙂